


Snuggles, Snacks and Surprise Attacks

by Wordy_little_witch_99



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dorks in Love, Fluff, God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Idiots in Love, cuddles snacks and tickle attacks, i gave myself cavities writing this, mentions of Warlock Dowling, mentions of movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 19:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20197018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordy_little_witch_99/pseuds/Wordy_little_witch_99
Summary: Everyone has traditions. From reading a certain book to an entire schedule of events, every person had some type of compulsion to do some specific things at some specific time. It was a purely human construct, and one that neither Heaven nor Hell could lay claim to.It stood to reason that Aziraphale and Crowley had traditions, too. And if one goes a little different than usual, then that's human, too.💍 Beautifully, crazily, ineffably human. 💍





	Snuggles, Snacks and Surprise Attacks

Everyone has traditions. From reading a certain book to an entire schedule of events for a certain time or day, every person had, in some capacity, some type of habit, some type of  _ compulsion _ to do these specific things at a specific time. It was a purely human construct, and one that neither Heaven nor Hell could lay claim to - or rather, one both tried  _ incorrectly _ to dub their own.

> Regardless, Aziraphale and Crowley, having been on earth since the Beginning, were as close to humans as any celestial entity could get - ergo it would stand to reason that they, too, had such mortal things as traditions. 

And given that they no longer had their respective bosses on hand to breathe down their necks, they had more time to make new traditions. 

One of such traditions - one which was not quite new, but not quite old either - was curling up together on the sofa, the small coffee table laden with snacks and drinks - and more than one bottle of wine - while binge watching every Halloween movie they could get their hands on until either Crowley fell asleep or until Aziraphale had to leave to run some errands. 

This particular tradition of snacks and snuggles was not originally coined by either of them - rather by a lonely little boy who wanted someone to spend time with, and who better than the closest duo he had to actual, functional parents? 

Warlock Dowling, now a young man as opposed to the freckled faced child that hid behind skirts and gently pet at rabbits from the safety of Brother Francis's lap, was still affecting their lives even now. While they had grown close to the residents of Tadfield in the few years since the failed apocalypse, they'd never quite managed to bring their hearts to abandon the formerly supposed antichrist. Through postcards, they had learned that he had taken up some new Halloween traditions which involved candy, costumes, copious amounts of spray paint, and the hard headed kindness of an activist in a warzone.

They couldn't be more proud of him. 

While he had changed some in the time apart, Crowley and Aziraphale had stayed much the same, barring some nuances of their relationship. A canister of coffee in Aziraphale's kitchen, a few books stacked cozily on a side table in Crowley's living room, small things, easily overlooked in the grand scheme of things. Neither of these dears were exactly forthright with their opinions, much to Someone's chagrin. 

They had settled into a sweet domesticity, making the most of their newfound time together. And in this domesticity lay the enactment of a favorite tradition of theirs. While their darling little hellion raised anarchy in some other location, they snuggled up in Crowley's apartment, snacks and alcohol at the ready for a truly glorious night in.

In the lull of the film they were watching -  _ Victoria rushing to the church in the pouring rain to rap at the door urgently, to ask if the living could marry the dead -  _ Crowley tilted his head up to look at the blond he was currently using as a heated body pillow. 

"Angel?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Would you marry me if I was a corpse?"

Aziraphale blinked, turning to look at the golden eyes, unhidden, that blinked up at him, Crowley's eyes lidded as he regarded his partner in the lazily attentive way he seemed to do most things. 

"What kind of question is that, Crowley? We won't ever be corpses, never like that."

Crowley shrugged, a shift of movement that rippled along his body sinuously. "Just a question," he grinned, forked tongue flicking playfully to tickle at Aziraphale's chin, earning a strangled giggle as the soft of the two tried futilely to squirm away. "C'mon, angel!" 

"Crowley, st- ah!! Stop tha-haha~"

His fingers joined into the fray and whatever scrap of dignity the Angel may have had before was lost as he giggled and wriggled at the exploring fingertips that traced light, easy patterns across his sides and ribs, his hips to his shoulders attacked by dancing, nimble touches. The laughter may well have been contagious, as Crowley found himself delving into nearly hysterical snickers at the Angel's clumsy flailing, knowing fully well that had Aziraphale truly wanted him off, that the other was more than capable of moving him, even wracked by laughter. 

It lasted maybe a minute, maybe a millenia, but eventually calloused hands caught Crowley's own slimmer digits, and Aziraphale flipped them effortlessly. Letting out a playful huff at being pinned to the couch, Crowley beamed up at his beloved, the Angel's riotous blond curls messier than usual, cheeks flushed from his laughter, eyes dancing with mirth and love and exasperation. 

"Hi," the demon says, feeling disconnected and silly. 

His angel let his lips twist into that smile, the one that only Crowley got the pleasure to see, to covet, to kiss. Aziraphale shifted, flopping onto Crowley's chest, chin resting on the back of his hand while he looked at the redhead with a lovestruck, sappy sigh. "Hi."

"So. About that question…"

Blue eyes rolled as the blond scoffed, turning to look back at the screen, smooshing his chubby cheek into his lover's sternum, turning his attention back to the movie. "If it really is that important to you, then I suppose I would. Far be it from me to judge what form you come in, so long as it's  _ you." _

There was some shifting, before a hand settled into Aziraphale's curls and the Angel sighed happily, watching on as the disastrous events began compiling onscreen. Absently, he reached out, grabbed a pretzel stick with chocolate on it, and began nibbling at it. The sweetness of the chocolate, the saltiness of the pretzel and the hot mess on TV kept him appropriately distracted for Crowley to pull a box from things air, flick it open, and move it to his other hand without the angel noticing. 

"What about…  _ this _ form?"

"Hm?"

"I mean… would you marry me as _ ss _ we are now?"

There was a pause, brief and heavy. 

And then Aziraphale was sitting up, hands on Crowley's chest and eyes wide. Crowley held out the little velvet box - inside, nestled within the satin cushion, lay a band of ashen stone, iridescent and dark, glimmering in the light. Aziraphale's hands shook as he grasped at Crowley's shirt, the dark fabric wrinkling beneath his fingers. 

"C-Crowley…" Tears welled in his eyes, and immediately a cold finger shifted to brush the water away, a palm cupping his cheek and Aziraphale leaned into it with a hiccup. 

"It's _ sss _ a human, tradition, I know ," he hurried to explain, "but I felt like we're ess _ ssss _ entially mortal in all but name, s _ sssss _ o I just thought we could… blur thes _ ss _ e lines _ ss _ , too…"

"Yes."

"What?"

Aziraphale shakily held out his left hand, grinning. "Put that ring on my finger, you silly serpent." He sniffled. "As if my answer could ever be anything but yes."

Crowley stammered for a moment, staring before he blushed, face barely discernible from his hair. Within moments, Aziraphale had a plain wedding band on his finger, one which he admired adoringly. 

"Is this a type of metal, my dear? I don't recognize it…?"

Crowley cleared his throat, tugging at the other's arm until Aziraphale snuggled back down, forehead to his lover's throat, eyes tracing the dark strip on his ring finger. There were light, almost white, flecks in it, a sheen of color that changed the longer he looked, a shifting mass of colored clouds.

"It's… not a metal, technically."

"What do you mean?"

"It's stardust."

Aziraphale lifted his head enough to meet Crowley's eyes - or at least try to, the other's golden gaze pointedly averted. Aziraphale touched his cheek, turning his face back, and Crowley sheepishly grinned, impish and sweet and  _ beautiful _ . 

"I may or may not have been collecting bits of nebulas for a while to crush into a ring just for my angel…?"

" _ Oh, Crowley-" _

"I needed something," he interrupted, moving to press his forehead to Aziraphale's, linking their fingers delicately, breathing in the scent of his partner, his best friend. His eyes drifted shut of their own accord. "I… I needed something special for you. Something that would  _ mean _ something to you, to me, to  _ us _ ."

Aziraphale brushed their noses together, a silly move that earned a strangled laugh from his lover. 

"You are everything to me, Angel. My s _ ss _ un, my s _ ss _ tars _ ss _ , my moon… I helped to paint the s _ ss _ ky, but none of them could compare to you. S _ ss _ o, I decided to us _ ss _ e them - all from s _ s _ tar s _ s _ ys _ s _ tems _ s _ I made, all to make s _ ss _ omething new, s _ ss _ omething perfect."

He pulled up Aziraphale's hand, kissing his knuckles, kissing the ring. 

"It was _ s _ the bes _ s _ t thing I could think of."

Aziraphale gave a watery smile, leaning in to kiss his lover - his fiance - as he snickered. "Oh, you wily old serpent," he hummed, "how on earth am I to hold a candle to all of that?"

Crowley sighed into the kisses, arms shifting to hug his angel, holding him close, and grinning. "You already do, angel, don't you ever lis _ ssss _ ten?" 

"Not nearly enough, I'm afraid." The blond angel shifted, moving to lay comfortably against his demon's collar bone, eyes tracing the television without really seeing it. "We've got time to work on it, of course."

Crowley sighed, breathing in the pumpkin spice scent that hung to his angel like a second skin in the autumn months. "Yeah. Yeah, we do…"

They basked for a moment, reveling in the comfort of one another before their attention drifted back to the movie, albeit somewhat distractedly. They watched silently, hands touching and brushing against arms, backs, shoulders, through hair and over each other's cheeks. It was soft and sweet and intimate, the movie coming to a close. Crowley shifted slightly, shoulders tensing as the ceremony proceeded on the TV, hues of blues and violets and shades of death playing in a beautifully macabre show of love.

"We're not resurrecting the dead for our wedding, dear."

"But Angel…!"


End file.
